


Drabble Snack Pack: Canon Edition

by Cesare



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon, M/M, Post Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabble-ficlets and unconnected drabbles set in the canon SGA universe, many post-s5. Originally written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/mcshep_match/59809.html">2009 McShep Match Drabble Challenge</a>, War Team. With art by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/chkc/pseuds/chkc">Chkc</a>! Thank you Chkc! ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble Snack Pack: Canon Edition

Rodney stepped into the temple foyer and sighed. "Another day, another glorified holding cell."

"I'm sure the Ancestors will approve of us in no time." John gave the head priestess a winning smile.

"Very convincing, Colonel," Rodney scowled.

The holy people withdrew. Ronon said, "Sorry we're all together. I told 'em to just put you two."

John's smile froze. "Uh..."

"I understand, John, you planned to," Teyla obviously quoted, "jump Rodney the next time you got him alone?"

"Thanks a lot, guys," John growled.

"Hey! Excuse me," Rodney signaled the priests. "I think we need our own cell!"

* * *

"Hot chocolate," Rodney sighs. "Marshmallows melting on top."

"Beer," says John.

"You said that. Repeatedly. It's like I'm stuck in an endless AA meeting."

"The rule is, say what you want most. It's your game."

Rodney slumps. "I know."

"Hey, come on." John rubs Rodney's wrist, checking his pulse. Three days without food. John's feeling it; Rodney looks glassy and sallow.

Teyla enters, flanked by guards. "We have secured your release," she presses cups of broth into their hands.

"In exchange for...?" John asks.

"They saw reason," she says. "And our very large guns."

* * *

Leaning in closer, the minister says, "We will keep the scientist for now."

John doesn't move. "Here's the thing: you can't start with 'you can go' and end there. We go, we all go."

Armed guards escort them to the gate, but they break in unison: Ronon to the woods, Teyla through the gate to alert Atlantis, John for the cloaked jumper.

He picks up Ronon; they fly over city hall, scan for Rodney, blast down a wall, and land.

Rodney walks up the ramp and takes his seat. "Finally."

John and Ronon exchange grins. They have this _down._

* * *

Okay, the Grexelian wing apparatus is experimental, maybe even a little intimidating, what with having to put it on shirtless to interface with the biofeedback panels. And the oil or gel or whatever they put on your bare skin before they'll strap on the harness... smells funny.

But they're _wings._ Who on the team is obviously most suited to help test experimental _personal wings?_

"Visitor Emmagan, we would be most honored," says the Grexelian scientist.

"They just wanted her to take her shirt off," John whines.

Rodney shrugs. "Can't really blame them there."

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v196/cesare/?action=view&current=chkc-flyingteyla-newcolor-1.jpg)

* * *

"I'm still deciding. There're a lot of factors. Though... possibly one less factor," Rodney begins.

John interrupts, "Look. The IOA, NID-- every day, I go to meetings, and they all agree that Atlantis belongs back in Pegasus, but no one's making the call."

"I know."

"So... make the call. I don't know who'd take your place on the team, or in the city. But you've gotta do what's right for you."

"...Okay." Rodney passes him a beer, warm fingers brushing John's, cold can.

John takes it, watching fog lick San Francisco, and braces himself to wave a white flag goodbye.

-

"Any news?"

"Nope." John accepts the turkey sandwich Rodney hands over; it's like grabbing a softball. "Who're you bribing to hit Lee's Deli every day?"

"I don't bribe, I demand."

They eat without Rodney's usual chomping. Jennifer must be having a civilizing effect.

"We'll get back," Rodney says, sudden and certain.

"We?"

"Naturally. The city wouldn't last a month without me."

John rolls his eyes, stepping down hard on his smile.

"And I might've suggested that further development of the wormhole drive is contingent on returning to Pegasus."

Jesus. "We're going back." For the first time in months, John believes it.

-

Pegasus welcomes Atlantis with four hive ships.

In the control chair, headset frantic in his ear, John suggests, "I say we bravely run away."

The city trembles. Rodney's strained voice bites through the static: "I can't believe Jennifer thought Atlantis was too dangerous for raising kids."

"Won't retreating embolden the enemy?" demands the new IOA rep.

"Sometimes you've got to lose battles to win a war," says John.

A lot of fancy flying later, John lets himself slump against a yawning Rodney.

Rodney's arm curls warm around him; John loses the battle against falling asleep, winning a more important war.

-

Jennifer's youth makes Rodney feel his forty years. Maybe it's time for a safer life on Earth. Vancouver's nice.

He finds himself seeking out the places on Jennifer's body where he imagines time will eventually mark her, his touch lingering on unwritten history.

She's too smart not to notice.

Months later, on Atlantis, he goes to John.

John's marked in ways that make Rodney's heart clench to see; but he's strong under it all, supple and vital.

He's got years and years left in him, and touching John, Rodney feels time open ahead of him too, waiting to be lived.

* * *

"What?" Rodney asks. "No, wait, don't repeat it-- I refuse to reward stupidity with an orgasm. I'm not giving that garbage any positive reinforcement."

John shuts his eyes hard, gasping. Rodney's right, he was stupid to say anything now, but this is when he can talk, when it's all too much. "Just-- if you want her back, you-- you should have whatever you want."

"Idiot," Rodney says, hand speeding, mouth greedy on John's neck. "I have exactly what I want. I want you, John. _Now_ come."

John arches, orgasm rippling through him.

Rodney pets him. "There. _That's_ appropriate positive reinforcement."

* * *

Teyla tried to warn them that the local practice of toe-curling was much like some Earth cultures' foot-binding.

Unfortunately, neither John nor Rodney had really known what foot-binding entailed either.

During the ritual, hearing muffled cries and small bones breaking, John muttered, "Don't react."

But Rodney's revulsion showed on his face. Spear-carriers surrounded them.

"Our ways make faster runners," said the priest. "You'll see. Unshoe them."

"I'll beat any of your runners," Ronon said.

"And if you do?"

"No more broken toes."

Ronon left their fastest runners in the dust.

John thumped his shoulder. "My feet thank you."

* * *

Lotion stripes John's shoulders; he flinches as it stings the blistered skin.

"This will heal you," say the Carulian attendants, "to suffer the same tomorrow."

They say it every night.

The sun beats down twenty hours each day as his skin reddens, burns and cracks. The lotion heals the damage, but the radiation exposure-- Rodney would say-- John forces his thoughts away, tries again to worm his hands out of the stocks.

Gunfire fills the square, and suddenly, John's out, spine popping, wrists soothed with gel.

"Lamest torture ever," Rodney says shakily, and gathers him close.

* * *

John pulls himself back from the brink, finger tight on the trigger. The soldier's young, caught off guard, musket down.

"Drop it," John orders. He hates these conflicts most: soldiers just following orders, commanders just trying to gain any advantage to protect their people against the Wraith. In their place, would John do any differently?

But Rodney's held behind these walls, and who knows what interrogations are like here. If this kid doesn't surrender, he's helping keep Rodney captive.

The soldier raises the musket. John fires, knowing he'll see that face in nightmares.

But Rodney will be safe. He'll be free.

* * *

"You just don't change, do you, Sheppard?" Kolya crouches nearby.

"You're dead," John says. "This is-- a trick, another mindfuck."

"Not a What If," says Kolya, "not an imaginary story."

"Kolya wouldn't say that."

"What would Kolya say?"

"That he was just trying to protect his people. But he endangered them. He was crazy."

" _I_ was crazy? You murdered me."

"I had to. You threatened my people."

"I threatened you, John. You fear me because we're alike."

John wakes, Rodney's arm around him, the scar from Kolya's knife thick and pale along his tender inner elbow.

The dreams are worth it.

* * *

John never makes noise during sex. Rodney has to listen to his breathing as a gauge, in, out, a frantic metronome.

 _"Hchh,"_ is all John ever utters, just that: lips parted, air pushed hard though his teeth-- his warning that he's about to come.

Soon Rodney's self-conscious every time he cries, "John, John..."

He stops, jaw clenching, lips a stubborn line.

Sex becomes a struggle, harsh panting and clutching hands. Rodney loses himself in silence, til he's brought back by John's voice: "Talk to me," low, pleading, "Rodney," words now between every touch and kiss, "Rodney, talk to me."

* * *

Sometimes, John just has to laugh or he'll go a little crazy.

He's the military commander of Earth's most remote base, and he's got a hardon that won't quit for the male, heterosexual, oblivious science head-- an affliction that's lasted through years, multiple near-deaths, and McKay's two disastrous relationships.

Then one night on the pier, Rodney finishes his drink and says, "I hope Teyla's right about this; if you don't take it well, I'm blaming the booze," leans over, and kisses him, clumsy but infinitely sweet, his mouth unexpectedly lush.

John goes a little crazy, and it feels _wonderful._

* * *

Rodney slips into bed at three AM, loopy, exhausted, and wondering if he could possibly convince John to wake up and refrain from killing him long enough to administer a blowjob.

He's not sure John would let him live, let alone get him off.

Yawning, John throws an arm over him. "There you are. 'Bout time."

"It's three," Rodney says, as if John asked.

John kisses his neck. "Long day. I'd blow you, but you'd probably fall asleep halfway through."

"I most certainly would not," insists Rodney. He guides John's hand to his boxers, and promptly dozes off.

* * *

John could hear a low pounding from next door. Trust the SGC to put the team up in a beautiful old-fashioned San Francisco hotel with Earth's thinnest walls.

He'd suck Todd's dick before he'd ask Rodney and Jennifer to quiet down.

At breakfast, he asked Ronon, "Mind switching rooms?"

Just his luck, Rodney arrived and overheard. "Sorry if we kept you up."

"It's fine." John pushed his fork away in case Rodney gloated.

"We broke up," Rodney said. "I had to fold out the cot."

"Sheppard's got room," said Ronon.

John glared, but let it go when Rodney smiled.

* * *

"About time," says Rodney, the first time John kisses him. "I've been planning how to give you the best ever orgasm."

"Rodney, you can't really measure that kind of thing."

"Oh yes you can."

Rodney fellates him, licks his toes, even gives him a sexy enema, who knew. He takes John apart a dozen ways, but makes John wait months to reciprocate.

After he finally gets to fuck Rodney, John admits, "Okay. Best ever orgasm."

"Ha!" Rodney says. "Alien priestesses everywhere, eat your heart out."

Which is why John's best ever orgasm is followed by whapping Rodney upside the head.

* * *

"So you invented a wormhole drive? The hell, Rodney."

"Just something I was noodling on in my spare time." Rodney grins. "Also: smartest person alive. I win at everything forever."

It's the happiest Rodney's seemed since the breakup with Keller, so John doesn't roll his eyes.

"But really," Rodney says, "Once I worked out basic ZPM principles, it just kind of followed."

"You figured out ZPMs too?"

Rodney sing-songs, "Everything forever!"

John tackles him.

Later, Rodney says, "I know I said I won at everything, but-- wow."

"Yep," says John, head on Rodney's shoulder. "Pretty good start on forever, too."

* * *

Three days post wedding, Rodney and John lie across their bed, having definitively mapped out their respective refractory periods and maximum orgasms per optimum day.

Rodney taps his radio. "Are you _sure_ nothing's happening?"

Radek sighs heavily.

"Maybe we should temporarily boost the long-range sensors. I have some ideas to minimize the power draw--"

"Rodney, enjoy your honeymoon. More importantly: leave me alone."

"Anything?" John's already dressed and thigh holstered, clearly as bored with peaceful inactivity as Rodney.

"Nothing. This week's as slow as your RC car."

"Oh yeah?" John kisses him, beaming. "You realize, of course, this means war."


End file.
